Snowfall
by Winged-Wolf13
Summary: It's the first snowfall of the season, and while most of the Survivors and Infected have run for cover, some have chosen to stay outside. Who knew Hunters loved snow so much? Hunter/Hunter Fluff. Implied Yaoi.


I can't escape this fandom, OTL. I know I promised Francis/Hunter for my next project, but I've been side-tracked by other pairings and KH. In due time, dear readers, in due time.

As I always say, check out the L4D Kink Meme if you have the time. Let's keep this fandom going, people! Also, I take suggestions/requests if they're interesting, so be creative.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. I'm not making money from this, either.

**Warnings:** Implied Hunter/Hunter.

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The dirty, crumbling buildings that once made up Fairfield, Pennsylvania were no less harrowing and pitiful under a fresh blanket of snow. But at the very least it covered up the rotting corpses and the splashes of blood that painted nearly every surface. Not only that, but with the continuous snowfall they'd been experiencing for the last several days, it made the environment much safer for Infected, who had come to find that the colder it got, the less Survivors there were to deal with. Less survivors to shoot at them.

But that also meant less food.

Regardless, for the time being, they enjoyed it, huddling in dark corners, growling and scuffling, some crying, others scratching and crawling. Smokers lazing atop buildings, eying the snow as it fell, staring with their milky, uncaring eyes at the smothering silence that fell atop their city. Commons lurching and stumbling over thick piles of the stuff, falling over one another as they tripped due to the obstructions hidden beneath them. Witches hid themselves in the darkest corners, peering out from between their twitching claws, sobbing as the dunes of snow grew closer and closer with every hour.

And Hunters... well...

A screech split the air, the fell silent, cut off suddenly. Another closely followed it, the pitch and voice meeting the very same fate as something silenced them.

Nothing dangerous though, to the despair of any Survivor within earshot.

No, of all Infected, the Hunters seemed to enjoy the snow the most. Their warm jackets and increased muscle mass kept them quite warm despite their need to roll and romp in the stuff. Some chose to scurry atop the highest buildings, then leap, falling falling falling until, with a muffled _whump_, they hit the dunes. Moments later they would emerge one more, shaking snow from their backs like great, furry beasts, smiling their toothy, feral grins. And the cycle would repeat as they climbed back up, ready for yet another go.

Not all of them were like this though. Some were, well, more cautious. More sensible. They poked their noses into the snow, snuffling and retreating from the cold, only to be drawn to it once more. Curiosity had the better of them, having them crawling back into the dunes and blankets despite themselves.

But these two, well, as a pair they'd long since gotten over the ice and snow, having spent hours upon hours bounding through it, slashing at it, spraying one another with the bitter coldness of it. Screeching and roaring from rooftop to rooftop, scrabbling at stone and ice alike, grinning all the while. More than once they'd fallen, sliding right off the side of buildings only to find themselves suspended, held aloft by only the sharp, clawed hand of their mate.

And once, only once, one of them had fallen, managing only in the last second to grasp hold of a window, throwing themselves through it only to find four pairs of eyes staring in horror back at it.

Immediately, hot, piercing steel was being directed at it, and with a snarl the beast had catapulted from the window once more, scrambling after its mate as it led them away.

One of the voices carried after them, "I _hate_ snow." and the _thump_ of a window being closed was the last they heard of that particular group of Survivors.

The pair carried on that way for perhaps a week, spending their days rolling through ice and snow, heads tilted back to stare at the graying sky, pupil-less, garnet eyes blinking at the cold that settled against them. Afternoons were filled with napping, forts built beneath cars that had long since settled in the snow. The air around them filled with the sounds of growls and muffled whimpers, of the whisper of sleep and the rustle of clothing as they grew still. But when night came once more they would emerge, scraping away the ice that had sealed them in, leaving their cozy hideaway in favor of hunting for food.

And while it was hard to find, they managed, learning quickly that if you snuffled hard enough at the snow, there was plenty beneath it to nibble on.

Nights brought the stars and the moon, casting eerie shadows on the snow and ice and the creatures ambling through it. The Hunters took to the rooftops, screeching their freedom out for all to hear, most especially those who were stuck at ground level, buried in the snow that continued to fall.

For awhile, at least.

One week passed, and with the next came the sun, the clouds, thick and puffy, finally dissipating. The pair of Hunters, perched atop a billboard plastered with CEDA warnings, could only watch as their precious snow began to melt away. Cars came back into view, glinting like new in the sun. Buildings became just as gray and ugly as ever. Witches reemerged from the shadows with shrieks of rage and anguish, tearing through the streets. Commons appeared in swarms, emerging from underground railway stations and basements. Tanks charged over rubble and corpses alike, roaring in their bellowing voices for all to hear. Smokers awoke from their naps, brushing away the snow that had settled over them, standing clumsily to shuffle to the edge of their buildings, ready to snatch anything that came in range.

And the Hunters... well, they went back to what they did best. Which didn't vary much from how it had _been_. The snow was gone, sure, but leaping from roof to roof was always a pleasant pastime. Things were normal, or, well, as normal as they could be in a dead city. None of them cared, if they could, that the snow would fail to return. That, in most cases, they would not live to see the next falling blanket of the stuff.

Except for two, who almost, almost pouted as the last of the snow melted from their fingertips, turning to water right before their very eyes.

One growled, a disappointed little sound. The other made a noise of disapproval, huddling close to the other to offer a bit of comfort. They sat in the middle of the awakening city, listening to she growls and groans of their brethren. Until, suddenly, a muffled sound peaked their interest. Intrigued, the pair went to investigate, crouched low on the crumbling sidewalk as they stalked into a nearby alleyway. Shadows loomed up before them, leading them deeper and deeper into the maze of buildings. Temperature falling, mist puffing from their lips, they finally reached a small little corridor, one that ended with a large, stone wall. Whatever had made the thumping sound was ineffectively trapped between their claws and the dead-end, but that wasn't what had them practically writhing in delight.

It was the snow, unreachable by the sun, that had settled into the corner.

Bounding for it, they resumed their romping, icy fun, rejoicing in their find. One that all the others had missed, and would continue to miss, for the pair would guard their find, preserving it for as long as possible.

And even as the source of the thumping sound appeared, three survivors, weaponless, emerged from a door only feet away from the dune of snow, the pair of Hunters ignored them in favor of their mock snow-ball fight.

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